


Rainbow of Hope

by silvertrails



Series: Warrior and Minstrel [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertrails/pseuds/silvertrails
Summary: Maglor meets Daeron again during the Second Age.





	1. Chapter 1

**Rainbow of Hope  
By CC   
June, 2016**

This story is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended. 

This is a story in a series about rain, drizzle, or snow, written for all my muses, and from another character’s POV. This one is for Daeron.

* * *

The weather had been unpredictable for the last few weeks, and it had turned for the worse. The lands beyond the Greenwood, usually warm, were cold and lifeless as Maglor passed by. The increasing darkness growing in the southern area of the woods seemed to be having an eerie effect on the weather. Oropher, whom Maglor met as he passed through their realm, had questioned his presence there but he had also warned him about dark creatures prowling beyond the forest. 

Maglor had heeded Oropher’s advice by changing his way slightly without abandoning his original idea of traveling to the Eastern lands. After years of wandering along the western shores, Maglor had decided that it had been enough and was now in search of a purpose, something to do while his life lasted in these lands. 

The pain for his family’s fall was still there, and sometimes at nights Maglor would sing about the past, and remember the deaths of his father and brothers. He would remember Maedhros’ despair before launching himself into that burning pit, and the twins’ last tortured words after the attack on the Havens of Sirion. How could he forget the sight of Celegorm’s body pierced by so many arrows and the last words of Curufin about his son? Caranthir’s death had been calmer, as if he had already disconnected himself from the Oath. They were all resting under the ground now, save for Fëanor, whose body had been consumed by its own fire. Only Nerdanel was still alive.

Many times Maglor had wondered why he was still going on despite the pain. A man he met first in Fingolfin’s realm had told Maglor that his spirit was too strong to fade. This man, Halanor, was of the House of Beor, and had taken to wandering around Beleriand, meeting other Elves and Men and learning their lore. Halanor had been at Maglor’s Gap once, and that was when he spoke about the fading of some Elves.

“We age and die fast, lord, but you look as young as the first time I saw you in Hithlum.”

“We can die too, Halanor, by violence or by grief.”

“That’s called fading, isn’t it? I have never heard of one of your house fading, lord. I believe that you are all too strong to lose your hold on life. Might be the light in your eyes that comes from the Lights of the Trees in the West…” 

Halanor might be right, Maglor mused as he looked at the darkening sky. Whatever made him go on, still burned brightly inside his spirit. The Oath was void, and he was free to live or die. He was not free to go home, though, and that hurt.

It had been his choice, after all. Maedhros had been the one to speak about everlasting darkness, but Maglor had finally agreed with him. Maedhros had not forced his hand, no. The only regret Maglor had was not trying harder to convince his brother. 

_We might be home now, even if imprisoned by the Valar._

Maglor sighed, and tightened his cloak around himself as the first drops of rain started to fall. He didn’t feel cold, but he didn’t want to walk around in wet clothes, either. There was a group of trees ahead of him, near the Celduin’s northern bank, remnants of times past when he Greenwood was young and bigger than now. 

As he approached the trees, Maglor realized that someone was there. He drew his sword, remembering Oropher’s words, but that was no dark creature crouching and ready to attack. It was Daeron of Doriath!

Long years had passed since the last time he spoke with Daeron. Maglor had heard the tales of Daeron’s love for Lúthien and his fall into despair after she left. The minstrel had silenced the forest of Neldoreth with his grief, and left a wake of silent birds as he moved toward the East. Such power and such pain…

Daeron was hugging his knees, his long hair loose, his eyes fixed on some faraway point. Maglor could hear him muttering something, and his heart ached when he realized that the tales about Daeron’s madness might be true. 

“Daeron?”

There was no answer until Maglor called again, and this time Daeron only looked at him and said no word. Maglor sat beside him and placed his own cloak around Daeron’s shoulders. The minstrel closed his eyes and collapsed against Maglor’s body, a soft sigh coming from his lips. Maglor just held him close and gently rubbed his back, murmuring words of comfort until Daeron fell asleep in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

When Maglor woke up it was dawn and Daeron was huddled against his body, eyes still closed as if he were sick. The rain had stopped, but the sky was gray and though the land around them had a distinct sweet smell it was obvious that another downpour was about to fall on them. They needed to find shelter.

Maglor carefully shook Daeron’s shoulder, “Daeron?”

Daeron opened his eyes slowly, and for a moment he didn’t seem to recognize Maglor. The minstrel’s body turned rigid, as if ready to flee or fight. 

“Daeron, it’s me, Maglor.”

“Maglor…?” Daeron looked around, eyes wide, and then tentatively placed a hand on Maglor’s chest. “You are real…” 

“Of course I’m real. Do you remember anything?”

“The rain, those Men… I escaped…”

Maglor was about to ask about those Men when a wave of exhaustion made Daeron close his eyes again. For a moment Maglor feared he had lost consciousness, but Daeron opened his eyes and slowly sat up, moving away from Maglor’s arms. 

“Where are we?”

“East from the Greenwood, northern bank of the Celduin,” Maglor said. “Daeron, we must look for shelter. It’s going to rain again, and you are cold. I am cold.”

“Sorry,” Daeron said, realizing that he had Maglor’s cloak on. He started to take it off, but Maglor stopped him. 

“Keep it,” he said. “I know of a cave further north, but we should eat something first.” 

Daeron nodded, and sat down while Maglor looked into his pack. He had lembas, given to him by a kindly Tatyar Elf-woman he met on the road, and he had honey and berries. Daeron accepted his offer, but ate little. Maybe it was for the best, Maglor mused. Daeron looked starved, and eating too much might make him sick. 

“I’m not unwell,” Daeron said after a while. “I lost my mind but that was long ago. I am simply… Many things have passed, but I know who I am now.”

Maglor nodded, still concerned.

Daeron smiled weakly. “You look at me as if I’m about to fall dead, or become insane. There is no need.”

“I am worried,” Maglor admitted. “I heard you left Thingol’s realm, to never be seen again. I thought…”

“That I was dead? I was, perhaps, but I am back.” Daeron looked at the cloak around his shoulders. “I am thankful, Maglor. I must admit that I don’t remember how I came here, but it was simply a temporary relapse.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Daeron. You would have done the same for me, and I assure you that at times I felt lost and woke in strange places… But let us look for that cave, and we can speak more there if you wish.” 

It was raining again. 

“You are right,” Daeron said, and after helping Maglor to pack up his things again, they both headed north in search of shelter.


	3. Chapter 3

They reached the cave after a long walk, and thankfully the rain didn’t start again until they were settled inside the shelter. Maglor had collected some wood to make a fire if needed. It would keep any wild animals away, but it would also signal their presence to others like Elves, Men, and Orcs. Elves would be all right if they stayed away from them. Men might upset Daeron. Orcs would definitely be a problem, because even though Maglor had no doubt that he could solve it, he was not alone and Daeron was in no shape to help. Maglor wondered how much of a warrior the other Elf was. After all, Daeron had been the Chief Loremaster and Minstrel in Thingol’s realm.

Daeron sat a few paces away, still wrapped in Maglor’s cloak, eyes glazed as if the effort had exhausted him. Maybe it had, Maglor mused as he unpacked his bedroll and placed it near the silent Elf. Daeron looked starved. What had happened to him?

“Are you all right, Daeron?”

Daeron eyes focused and he nodded, shivering slightly. “I’m sorry, I’m just… tired, but if you need my help---”

Maglor smiled. “There is no need. I will go out to make sure that we are safe, and then we can drink some wine. It will help.”

“Is it Dorwinion wine?” Daeron asked when Maglor returned. He saw a trace of the easygoing Elf he had met so long ago in the Mered Aderthad. 

“Yes, one of Oropher’s soldiers gave it to me. I suppose I looked thirsty.”

“You saw Oropher?”

“You know him, of course. Yes, I saw him.”

Maglor poured wine for Daeron and himself. He wondered how much Daeron knew of the things he’d done. After all, Maglor and his brothers had killed Dior and his wife, caused the death of his sons, and forced his daughter to jump into the sea. 

We are responsible for the deaths of Lúthien’s family…

No, not of all of them died…

Daeron drank the wine slowly, his cheeks regaining color. Maglor sipped his own, the dark thoughts that had plagued him before he broke away from the sea coming back with vengeance. Daeron had loved Lúthien. What would he do if he knew what Maglor and his brothers had done?

“You look sad, Maglor. What is it?”

Maglor shook his head, “Bad memories, nothing more.”

“The Oath…”

“Yes.” 

“I know about Thingol,” Daeron said. “I heard of it… Those jewels your father made… My captors… When I was in the Eastern lands I heard the tale of Thingol’s fall, and Lúthien’s death.”

“Do you know what happened next?”

Daeron nodded. “Lúthien returned, but she lived apart from Elves and Men. That Man, Beren came back too, and they had a son.”

“Dior.”

“Something happened,” Daeron said. “It was related with the Oath. That’s all I know.”

“We attacked, and Celegorm killed Dior… They killed each other.”

Daeron set his wine aside, his hand visibly shaking. “You killed them all. You killed them all for that jewel!”

Not the children, Maglor thought, but that didn’t make any difference, and Dior’s twins died anyway.

Daeron stood and moved away, “That accursed jewel! How could you attack Lúthien’s family? When are you going to stop?”

“It has stopped already.” Maglor stood. “The Silmarils are lost, my brothers are gone, and the Oath is void.”

“All of them?”

“We paid with blood the things we did. I am the last one left, and there is more that you don’t know.”

“Who else is gone?”

“All of Lúthien’s descendants save for her grandsons. They still live.”

“Her grandsons…? I don’t understand.”

Daeron was swaying on his feet, probably exhausted after his burst of anger. He was not well, but Maglor didn’t think his help would be welcome. Daeron stepped back and placed a hand on the rough wall of the cave, breathing a bit too fast. 

“Please sit down, Daeron. I will explain it all. I have done terrible things, and once you know it all I will understand if you want us to part ways. All I ask is that you stay in the shelter until you have rested and it is safe to leave it.”

Daeron sat down and pushed Maglor’s cloak aside. “Speak, Maglor. I will listen to everything you have to say, and then I’ll take my leave.”

Maglor sat down too, and without waiting more, he started to speak. “It all began when we heard that Dior had returned to Menegroth with the Silmaril…”


	4. Chapter 4

They spent the rest of the day speaking about the events in Doriath after Daeron left. They passed quickly the story about Lúthien and the Silmaril, only stopping when Daeron made a question or two in order to fill the gaps in his knowledge of those events. Maglor told Daeron that while Lúthien had the Silmaril, they felt no urge to take it from her. It was when she vanished and Dior returned to Menegroth that the Oath took hold of Celegorm’s mind and heart, waking the same urge in his brothers. 

“We tried,” Maglor said, “Maedhros tried but we had taken a vow and none of us wanted to fall into everlasting darkness.”

“Did you not fall into darkness anyway?” Daeron asked. He sounded pained.

“Ah yes, we did, and the Doom of the Noldor made it impossible for us to keep the good things we tried to build. Even our alliance against Melkor didn’t work. We were betrayed by a group of Easterlings who joined Caranthir’s service.”

Daeron shuddered when Maglor mentioned the Easterlings. “So you attacked and killed Dior and his family, even the children.”

Maglor nodded. “In a way, we ended up doing it. Celegorm’s servants left Dior’s twins in the forest and we never found them again. His daughter, we pursued her to the Havens of Sirion. She jumped into the sea, turned into a white bird…”

“Her husband…?”

“Was not there, but we found the twins.”

“The ones you spared.”

“The ones we took in, the ones who became my sons even if I had no claim to their love. They lived with Maedhros and me until the host of the Valar came to Middle-earth to fight Melkor and take him back to the Halls.”

“And your younger brothers died…”

“Yes…”

The last part of the story was the most painful to recount, but Maglor told Daeron everything, until he felt empty of any strength that had sustained him until now. He had taken a terrible Oath, and his father and brothers had died for it. They had killed their own kin, and they had failed to reclaim the Silmarils and take revenge on Finwë’s and Fëanáro’s death. Daeron was right. Not only the Oath was void, but Maglor had fallen into everlasting darkness. 

Once he was done speaking, he looked at Daeron and waited. It was night already, and the rain was pouring on the earth once again. Maybe Daeron would leave in the morning? Maglor had wished for his company, but now he wanted to be alone with his pain. 

“You have suffered great pain,” Daeron finally said. “Many of those who died were dear to me, but I can understand how much it has cost you. I do hope the Valar pardon you, even if you refused to return. Loneliness if not good for anyone…”

“I am a kinslayer,” Maglor said, “and the Valar will judge me when the time comes. I am sorry for what I did, to your friends, and to the other Elves we slew. The urge to recover the Silmarils is still buried deep into my spirit, even though they are lost. I have no hopes of ever returning to Aman. This loneliness is my punishment.”

“Have you not suffered enough?”

There was kindness in Daeron’s eyes, but Maglor could not bear to look into them or accept his compassion. He was still proud, he realized. He would always be a Noldo, a member of the House of Finwë. 

“I have nothing more to say.”

There was surprise and hurt in Daeron’s eyes, but Maglor ignored the guilt. He had said it all, and he could not bear to be pardoned because of pity. It had been easier to speak to an angry Daeron, and to protect him when he was hurt. 

_I don’t deserve his pardon, and I don’t want his pity. Then… what is it that I want from him?_

“I will leave in the morning,” Daeron finally said, and without another word, he lay down in the same place where he had slept on the previous night. Maglor stayed awake until Daeron’s breathing slowed down, and then he placed his cloak around the minstrel’s body.

I will miss you, Maglor thought to himself, and then he went to sleep near the entrance of the cave. The sound of the rain lulled Maglor into an exhausted sleep, and only when the sound of birds chirping intruded into his consciousness did he wake again.

A beautiful rainbow was in the sky, its colors a change for the gray and dull colors of the previous days. Maglor looked at the place where Daeron had fallen asleep, but there was nothing there, only his cloak. 

Daeron had left without saying good-bye. Maybe it was for the best. Maglor sat up and looked around for his pack, his heart heavy with regret. He was about to break his fast when he heard a voice singing outside. It was a simple song that spoke of beauty and nature, and how after the darkness the light always returned. 

“I brought some wood to make a fire. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to catch anything we could eat.”

Maglor barely managed not to smile and the image of Daeron trying to hunt for food. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I still have some herbs, and I could catch something if you are not too hungry…”

“I doubt you’ll find anything…”

“Maybe I will, if I don’t sing while trying to hunt.”

Daeron scowled at him. “I wasn’t singing when that rabbit sped past me!”

Maglor smiled. “Of course not,” he said. “Will you take care of the fire?”

Daeron looked at him, “Only if you promise to come back.”

Maglor locked eyes with Daeron, and there was no anger or pity, just acceptance, and hope. “Of course I will.”

“There is a rainbow outside. The rain is over, and so is the darkness.”

Maglor felt as if a heavy weight was lifted from his heart. “And the light is back.”


End file.
